Hearthland: A Postwar Anthology
by fanghail
Summary: A series of vignettes from different years after the Adrestian victory in the Unification War, centering on Emperor Edelgard's life alongside Hubert and Byleth von Vestra
1. Those with Wings

Imperial Calendar 1191

Byleth packed well.

A bag of dried cherries which she'd bought on a market run while visiting Dorothea and Manuela that she'd been saving a while by now. A good portion of smoked peppered ham, and a large dewdrop-shaped loaf of the rich sourdough they usually reserved for banquets. She'd also gotten her hands on a perfect '63 bottle of crystal-clear blueberry sauvignon, a specialty of the orchards dotting the greater Enbarr region. There was a container of carrot and greenbeet salad she'd begged Bernadetta to teach her how to make (seasoned with sweet vinaigrette and bitter herbs), and spiced saghert, and cold pea-and-morning-glory risotto, and rosehip tea in a fire magic kettle. Last and best of all were a trio of small, perfect apple tarts that Byleth was determined to keep secret until the end.

A bit extravagant, really.

It was a rather stilted girls' day out. In the years since the war the three of them had rarely found opportunites to relax; the Emperor and her chief councilor were practically inseparable in terms of governance and Byleth had thrown herself completely into her own house's business. Despite its new lack of nobility after the reforms, being a member of house Vestra was still a full-time job in its own right, considering that its business remained the business of the Empire. Hubert breathed down all their necks in the castle in his endearingly harsh mother-hen way, and they'd been overworking themselves so hard for so long that they'd developed a brisk, overly professional manner amongst each other that was very hard to break down in the everyday.

Byleth was determined to. She still spoke so seldom, but everyone in the inner circle that had formed from the remnants of the strike force was able to perfectly parse her smiles by now – the others had allowed themselves to be cajoled into the trip just off the virtue of that little dip of the head Byleth had when she was excited.

Lysithea was used to southern weather by now – it had taken a while to adapt to the storms and rains and heat that the capital region could have – but still liked fall the best. Edelgard shared the sentiment, to the point of quiet breathlessness at the scenery. After the carriage ride they'd found a point overlooking a forest and valley, among the huge rolling hills that marked the region, above trees dark raspberry red and grass just beginning to brown. The two white-haired women stood and watched scattered flocks of birds as their former teacher set things up behind them.

"Councilor. Do you see that one?" The Emperor raised one ungloved hand and traced out the treeline. Her hair stirred in the light updraft breeze – she rarely wore it down, and her gaze felt lighter but less keen without the tight weight of the crown.

"'Councilor', still?" Lysithea grumbled. "El, would you please just relax already? That was kind of the whole point of coming all the way out here."

She cleared her throat. "Well. Lysithea. Right there, you see – ah! And now it's taken flight."

Lysithea craned her neck, trying to pick out the spot of brightness. "That orange one?"

"Yes. A tangerine highjay. Did you know, that they are one of the rare few breeds that does not fly south?"

"Hm..." She took half a step closer to the emperor's side. "They must like it here. Where do they go instead, when the snow gets here?"

Edelgard coughed. It was still early in the season, but the cold was already beginning to bite – Linhardt's institute had made much progress on reversing the surgery effects, but a true and full cure would always be out of reach. They would have their natural lifespans back, and the chronic pain would abate somewhat – but the scars and malformed organs would remain.

She leaned on her cane. "What they do, you see – ahem, what they do – is that they actually burrow instead. They find hollows in trees and widen them, or dig out a space among the roots. I found that simply fascinating."

Byleth watched them. They usually made such a sight together from behind, the eagle and the dove did, with that stark red imperial cape supported by a matching, silk-white one. But, once they were out from the uniformed grandiosity that attended every breath of capital life, Byleth couldn't help notice an older scene in them. Something about it. Something about Lysithea idly pulling at her scarf, Edelgard in full speechgiving mode about birds and berries and branches in a narrow, high-collared coat. They had an unguardedness that she hadn't seen since the monastery.

Edelgard eventually picked up on the slightly quieter than usual spell, and turned back.

"Ah, sensei. You've set everything up already, I see."

"Were you not going to tell us?" Lysithea started, with just enough restraint to not rush over. "My, you really went all out with this. I know you said it would be special, but this is more than I expected."

Edelgard settled herself down onto the blanket and cushions, beside Lysithea who had already gotten into the cherries.

"Sorry. I liked that story," Byleth said.

"I see." Edelgard smiled, meeting her eyes as she allowed Byleth to pour her a cup of tea. "I'm glad. So much about this land, still, that we've all to learn."

The wind pulled at the dusty metallic streaks of clouds across the sky. Chimes rang in the distance, from some farmer's house. They drank together a moment.

Edelgard looked out at the view behind them a moment longer, and then to the bottom of her cup. "So silly, doesn't it seem? An outing like this, now..."

"Well, when else would be better?" Lysithea said, opting for wine over tea and rather nonchalantly uncorking the bottle. "It had to be now."

"I admire your certainty," she said, beginning to think to herself. "It does seem like a slow spell, lately. I hadn't expected the Brigid independence process to go so smoothly considering their own situation, and now that we're into the full treaty process and having to pull in Dagda, I feel it's only a matter of time until tensions rise again. General Bergliez is adamant that he'll be able to –"

"_El_."

Edelgard looked back at the sudden glare. Lysithea scooted over on the blanket, plate of saghert in hand, and shoved a loaded fork in front of her face.

"If you won't quiet down about all this, I will feed you myself. And then you'll have to."

"No need to go so far." She obediently took the fork, chewing hesitantly. "Oh. This is rather good, actually."

Lysithea sat back again, not quite placated. "I'll be _so_ mad if all you talk about is geopolitics when Petra finally gets back next month! You both have enough of that already. You're impossible."

"Hm, hm," Byleth giggled in that creepy little way of hers, "I'll start making kidnapping plans now. Hot spring trip, do you think?"

"Yes!" Lysithea said delightedly through a mouthful of risotto. "Oh, that'll be wonderful. Boil the tension out, a perfect scheme."

"You two..." the emperor huffed. "Really, I understand already! This... ruthlessness is uncalled for." She shook her head, trying to keep the smile off. "But I'll humor you, I suppose."

Byleth pulled her fleece coat tighter around her, covering her knees drawn to her chest. She let her eyes wander the tessellated bird patterns of the blanket, the little sprigs of grass at the edges, and as the other two slipped into conversation she found herself lost in thought.

Byleth was a strange woman. It often seemed that the war had affected her the least, somehow – her tactician's mind always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else, as if nothing surprised her, but it was not a coldness that she had. Only some kind of stuntedness, and she was certainly not alone in that.

It had not been until the war that she had felt alive – felt like more than a vessel, more than a slowly learning human-imitator, like a real person. But that was probably wrong to think, and not entirely correct. If she were to phrase it more properly, there had been something in her during the war that had never been there before, a movement of the heart that came with the hair.

Maybe it was not Sothis, though. Maybe it was just Edelgard all along. When Byleth woke up in the dormitories with her head still spinning and her hand still burning from the sword, the girl had immediately dived into her, clung to her, looked up from her chest saying "Did they? Did they?" too breathless and on-edge to be able to say who 'they' was or what they may have done, or even make it a question. Was it the same power? The same cut? The same empty house?

The first mission the old church had sent them on was to Zanado. In the precious few first months they knew each other, she saw Edelgard cut a man in half.

He must have had a story, even if there were a thousand like him. A noname thief on a mission too big for him, chased out of his mother's house after one drunk night too many. His sister in some Oghma trading town let him squat a few months before one of Edelgard's temporary lackeys temporarily hired him, and he had another few weeks of pillage and petty rape before being cut down at the old blasted center of the world. Speculation. But close enough.

There with his chest-blood still on her face, she looked back to Byleth. Was that her first? The first by her own hands? How had she felt? With the leer of the church already at her fragile back, with the ebb and flow of responsibility and guilt pre-born into her veins. It must have settled in early. The castle emptied early, the crown sunk early, and lives started to be bought early, too.

It must have been like fording a river. The current's pull at the hems of various wounds, that particular sensation of the mud and sand washing out from under where she stood except directly under the foot, leaving just enough uneroded to balance on. Cut and shape, let the wind pass through. Young things bend in a storm.

The Flame Emperor continued to grow like wild rose. The rose so wild that it still bore just the five petals, under red rain and spreading wings. Byleth followed.

* * *

Byleth was startled out of her reverie by realizing Edelgard had been sitting next to her for a few seconds already – the emperor apparently had been reminiscing, too.

"Do you remember, sensei," she asked, popping the last bite of apple tart into her mouth, "the first week you had at the monastery?"

"Of course."

"It was summer, yes?"

"Spring."

"Mm," she said. "That's right, that's right."

Edelgard let her head fall onto Byleth's shoulder, and took her arm. Her tone dropped, "You took us all out for one of these, on the green right in front of the Academy classrooms. An 'orientation picnic,' where on earth did you pick up that phrase? Hehe. I remember all the other houses' students were staring at us, baffled at how easily we all took to it." She readjusted herself, the two of them warm enough to feel faintly through clothes. "That was one of the sweetest days of my life. Even if your ridiculous husband did insist on 'tasting' half my food away," she pouted, almost childishly.

Byleth chuckled to herself. "Well. He was right to be wary."

"Yes, you certainly did break our defenses," she sighed, looking to the clouds, "considering whatever mess the three of us have ended up as."

Byleth looked to the grass, not quite caught up with the conversation. "You were all so new to me. I wanted to be liked, and show that I'd do right by you all."

"Well, you did. And you are." She leaned up and stole one kiss on the cheek, and then stood and brushed herself off. "Come, sensei. Let's head back."

Lysithea called them from the bottom of the hill, and the early afternoon sun skittered off the tiny hairs of their scarred arms as they walked back to the roads of their world. "Ah," Edelgard said, marking the shadows, "it seems we'll make it back before dusk."

"Yes. We'll have the daylight yet."


	2. The Last Lord

Imperial Calendar 1187

"Pegasi," he said, "are a unique species. The only beast in the world with six limbs – do you know the story behind them? Bred out of some human magic our current institutions have long lost their touch for, created from eagle and horse for the purpose of holy war. The only thing that shares this peculiarity is dragons. I'm sure you're familiar with dragons, Arundel."

"You've rather surpassed me on that count, by now," Arundel sighed at the desk, a bit unsure what to do with his hands without his habitual pile of papers to sort through. He settled for sipping tea. A good, fresh bergamot.

"The issue with dragons," Hubert said, pacing by the windows of the high-ceilinged room, "is that they are similarly unnatural. Even more so, in fact. While it is hard to study something that until mere years ago we were unaware existed outside of legend, I've had time to learn some things. Our dear saints' race _was_ human once, though so long ago that it defies belief more than their existence: before even Nabatea, in the ancient days. It is incredible what they did to themselves."

"I must ask – are you coming to a point?" He adjusted his jacket, looking idly around the room. "I do appreciate Vestra hospitality, as always, but your cup will get cold at this rate."

Hubert paused, looking out on the capital with a terse, reserved smile before continuing. "Lord Arundel. I suffered more than my share of your monologues during the war. Please allow me to repay you with one of my own, as it suits our sort, and I can assure you you'll appreciate it just as much as the hospitality."

"Ha, ha." He softened a bit. "I apologize, Marquis. Very well, I'll indulge you."

"Many thanks. Though," Hubert continued, "I will try to be succinct."

Hubert's office was in one of the many buildings of the palace complex, in a tower all his own overlooking the central courtyards. The palace was the oldest standing section of Enbarr, a massive edifice of old perfect wood and masonry of tan stones so large that it was a matter of historical study as to how the builders lifted them. Everything was halfway between cathedral-ornate and barracks-functional, with a constant light dust to it all in which you felt its age, its dignity. Hubert had offered Arundel a seat at his desk, for now.

He traced a finger along the windowsill. "The emperor, you understand, was... somewhat emotional, when you were captured."

"You put it so lightly. Three months in confinement before she looked away long enough for you to fish me out, was it? Well," he said, with a slight but unamused smile, "it can't be helped. I'm here now. I've plenty to catch up on, where shall we begin?"

"Ah, as it happens... you're the only one left."

"Hm?" he frowned, thinking to himself. "Ah, I see, you mean in the capital. A trip to Oche, then, I assume? Unless there's been a regrouping somewhere else."

"No. Nowhere else."

Arundel's elbow hit the table for some reason. The tea spilled across the richly lacquered mahogany. The porcelain rolled off and rang on the floor, the only punctuation to those few long seconds of silence. The spreading pool of tea gave a sudden and inappropriate fragrance to the room. He could hear his pulse for a moment, and then opened his eyes again.

Ah.

Hubert turned back in full, making the walk over from the corner of the room. "What I wanted to discuss about dragons is a few of the many interesting details we came upon after starting the dissection process." He pursed his lips with a touch of businesslike impatience. "Oh, stop panicking, the dosage isn't a fatal one. It's a simple anti-magic drug, it can barely be called poison."

He hadn't known such things were possible, but now wasn't the time for scientific surprise. No room for shock here at all. He did not feel betrayed, there was no argument, the hand was dealt clearly and cleanly. The only thing he felt was a slight embarrassment for assuming so much security. "So. You – you brought me here to toy with me, I see."

"Oh. I _do_ apologize for this display," Hubert said, convincingly. "I had only half expected it to work. I'm beside myself that you let your guard down here; I suppose I should be flattered? Baffling."

"So this is your choice." Sure enough, his head was already spinning. He pushed himself up with some effort, struggling but succeeding to control his breathing, and sure enough the magic would not come to his palms. "Why this farce? You always – always did show your hand too easily. Now you've let me know that you do not mean to kill me."

"Is that so?" Hubert was impassive. Privately, he was rather impressed that the man still had the composure to adopt his old schoolteacher-like cadence for even a moment here.

"What would it accomplish? You must – must have guessed at the scope of our establishment. What was your juvenile name for it again?" he began to ask, face burning with whatever the tea had in it. Snowbell? Aurantia? That didn't explain the magic, he –

No answer.

The initial wave had passed. His constitution was strong, well-prepared for this sort of thing, and he calmed himself staring at the top of the desk, fists clenched on the wood. "No matter. Regardless, my death would further nothing. It would not even slow us. This project has neither name nor head, and as you are more occupied with revenge than the root of the issue –"

Hubert stood straight, gaze fixed out the window at an angle that did not allow Arundel to see his eyes. "We burned the facilities at Oche two months ago."

"... What?"

"It was trivial." He looked down. "All your dens. Lethyx. Tammany. It took us only weeks to get the torch to all of them once the first was found."

Arundel's heart raced. Was it the poison or the shock? Why had it been such a light dose, that he was still conscious? "If you – if you truly think that was the extent of it... you're sorely mistaken, Marquis."

"Ah yes, quite right. Shambhala _will_ be more of a chore, but practically empty by the time we arrive. It is so clear," Hubert said, loudly dragging over a chair and sitting down across from him, "how little you have internalized the situation. You still call me Marquis."

The man was too busy breathing to respond. They must not know the full story yet. There must still be a way forward.

He had known the Vestra boy since childhood. He had been useful for errand-running in his earlier youth, and his was a bloodline that could always be relied on for discretion. Arundel had been around him long enough to become familiar with his expressions – wry disdain, frustrated withdrawal, keen surveyance – but he'd never seen this particular kind of harshness in his manner. Like a tensed bowstring with no plans of release.

A clock ticked on the wall. A laugh and fragments of chatter drifted up from the distant courtyards. "Anyway. If you still won't believe me, would you like me to start listing leaders' names? No, I won't bore you with them. You baffle me. That you believed your undisciplined mess of drunken, impulsive officials and openly insane physicians could keep any secret at all." Hubert relaxed his posture, crossing his legs.

"I won't beg, Vestra." All he had left was his hawk's glare. "One of us is bluffing. When your little living corpse of a princess finally falters, becomes another failure in her turn, you'll wish you had played this hand differently. That is all."

"How provocative." Hubert just stared back, smug and catlike. "Well, you were right about one thing. I'll concede there."

"On what?"

"On the fact that I am not going to kill you."

The tall double doors opened behind him and revealed a full crowd of black-cloaked Vestra sorcery engineers. They were unmasked, and each grim and glaring.

He laughed at how many faces he recognized. "You timed this for effect." A single drop of sweat fell in front of his eye – when had he begun to sweat? "So not by your hand then. Very well."

"You continue to misunderstand me." He shook his head with pity. "My colleagues will not kill you either."

"Then where will I die, make your point already," he said, the first brusque hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Back to jail, the dungeons this time? A lavish execution?"

"No, my lord." Hubert met his gaze, his face indicating light sadness but his gaze burning. Yes, that was it after all. It was actual anger that Arundel had recognized in those sick yellow eyes, for the very first time. "No one is going to kill you. You will not die at your upcoming trial and yes, keen intuition as ever, not at your spectacle of a beheading either. You will not die on the battlefield, and you will certainly not die from the things we are going to do you. Lord Arundel. Last lord of the Unified Empire. You have hit upon it already, look at me." He leaned in closer. "You are never going to die."

Arundel looked back blankly.

The engineers filed in, unceremoniously seizing his weakened arms and beginning to bind him to the chair.

"Let's come back to _dragons_ again," Hubert said, standing up and unable to restrain a smile. "I never did get to the point of that. There were five, five we compelled to give up their pretense of humanity and summarily slaughtered. Do you know what we found in their corpses?"

"No." This was a protest, not an answer. Of course he knew.

"You've certainly been wondering what exactly the drink had in it. Nameless as of yet, quite experimental, derived from something we bled out of Macuil. Does 'Arundel's Shackle' sound like a good moniker? Poetic, but too on-the-nose..." he mused. "Regardless. It may be a minor one, but I wanted to directly show you one of the many applications of your body of work. I can promise that you will be personally fascinated by each of them, in time."

"No. Not even you would dare."

"Dare not what? Continue towards your own goals? Really, don't be so squeamish, it's not as if you have the room. Dealing with only one subject should simplify things considerably." He examined one of his own gloved hands; his men were already cutting off Arundel's sleeve at the shoulder and fastening a tourniquet. "Did you know that Cethleann could regenerate from any physical harm to its body, under the right circumstances? Didn't stop the pain though, considering the noises it made."

"You would not."

"No more callous waste. No more stolen children. And no more death, my lord, at all."

He buckled uselessly at the restraints. "Hubert! You would not!"

"Thank me," he said, and bowed mockingly as they began wheeling the tables of surgical equipment in past him. "You will become the pinnacle of all your ambitions."

Arundel screamed.


	3. And Summer Ends

Imperial Calendar 1205

The last King Blaiddyd had been buried, somewhere. Edelgard had not thought to oversee where it was done, and simply left it to the sparse remnants of his troops that he did not manage to doom in the final days of the war. His actual body probably lay in some unmarked grave with the rest of his soldiers, or was spirited away by hard loyalists to a meaningful and secret final resting place, but absent of all that there was a nice new official plaque by the gates of the old Fhirdiad castle.

The castle was of course gone by then; Seiros' spiteful death throes and intentional sabotage had razed half the city despite all the imperial army's efforts. Perhaps a fourth of the wartime populace had actually stayed in the city to this day to rebuild, the majority either died in the conflagration or moved on when their homes and livelihoods were destroyed. Regardless, this is where it had happened, twenty years ago.

_At this location in the Great Tree Moon of Imperial Calendar 1185, the reunification of Fodlan was completed. Emperor Edelgard I and Byleth von Vestra here slew the Second Dragon, Seiros of the Church of Seiros, and so liberated the world from the alien creatures which had for centuries polluted it and reduced humanity to a shadow of its natural potential._

_Buried here is King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, last of his line, and most tragic casualty of the continent's final war. In accordance with his wishes, he rests at the gates of the place where the Church betrayed him._

"'Most tragic'. Who came up with that one?" Hubert scoffed from beside her. It was a rather curt plaque, for what it represented. She'd have to see about it being redone. Perhaps she had demurred too easily to the governor waving off the option of a monument.

She looked back to Dimitri's false grave. Felt strange to feel like she did about someone who had spent their last breaths cursing her to hell, but she owed him it. His worst mistake – well, one of his worst mistakes, it was hard to quantify – had been leaving the city in the first place, and even if it would only be in name the least she could do was bring him back.

Tempting to think of the city as the one thing they had in common, but this was not the Fhirdiad she had once lived in. Not the one she had once been able to walk the streets of alone, and not the one which had cut her open night after night after night. There was no castle, just a modern-looking walled district with a small sector of ruins in its corner, and all the landmarks she would have been able to recognize were on the western side of the city which had burnt first. She wasn't the same Edelgard who had lived within those old walls, either.

She wondered which Edelgard was here, in which city. Which Edelgards could have been. An Edelgard who wo uld sneer at a version of the place that stayed rubble forever, and forget the Boar King entirely. An Edelgard who would come here by herself one starlit winter's night and cry a few hidden moments for a brother. This current Edelgard was the only one she could be sure of, who settled for watching, and wondering. She seemed to have gained impassiveness over the years at the same rate as Byleth had lost it.

"There needs to be more information on this," she said, finishing one last reread, "remind me as we leave to have it amended. And stop being cruel, would you."

"You ask the impossible, Your Majesty. But very well. Also, the governor has arrived."

He had become so practiced at whispering to her that it seemed a completely natural movement as she turned to the approaching man, as if she had sensed him herself.

He came at the head of his retinue, meeting her own in the square. They weren't quite at parade levels, but the emperor and governor meeting in public had certainly drawn crowds. There was this meeting, a small anniversary ceremony, they would both give speeches. A nice little gesture, she hoped, to help the north of Adrestia along in its healing process.

"I see you all found the place alright," he said, casual as ever. Thankfully the guards were keeping the audience at a distance, so anything could pass as formality.

"Governor Fraldarius. It's been too long, a pleasure to see you." She curtsied, with a wide and true smile.

"Likewise," he bowed. "I apologize I've not visited the capital recently – I've been kept very busy, as you're aware."

Felix had certainly grown up. No longer the lithe sprinter's build he'd had in wartime, he had developed into a chiseled rock of a man. He still wore his hair up, but longer by now, and either out of a new respect or an old laziness had managed to acquire a perfect replica of his late father's facial hair. Despite being from Faerghus and effectively ruling Faerghus, he had taken well to the imperial red and gold, and his eyes were as sharp and hardened as ever.

"Hello, you all!" Annette called, stepping out from his side. He dwarfed her even more nowadays, they probably would not have even noticed her if she had not been holding back excitement at seeing them. She wore her hair in one long braid and was still in her teacher's uniform.

Hubert nodded to her. "Hello as well. And how goes your own work, headmaster?"

"Oh, wonderfully! The last 10% of the literacy rate has proven the hardest, but we're getting there! And oh Hubert, we really must catch up after this. Some of the research being done at the university is right up your alley, hehe!" She'd settled so well into the Fhirdiad Imperial University, and the education landscape in general. The university was part of Minister Aegir's many development packages but Annette had more than taken the initiative to make it a shining light in the north, and by now she was remarkably dedicated to it. It was a perfect match for her.

"Is that so?" Hubert said with a faint smile, glancing at Edelgard. "I'll be sure to make the time, then, should Her Majesty permit."

"Of course I'll permit. Please. We'll have a few days here, if your curiosity is piqued enough."

"That's great, that's great," Annette nodded. "I've really wanted to show you guys around for a while now, you know?"

Felix spoke up. "The professor didn't come this, time, huh?"

Hubert nodded, the conversation immediately shifting a shade more grave. "She stayed behind, for safety reasons."

Edelgard turned to look up at him, annoyed. "You _made_ her stay behind, you mean. Really."

"Your Majesty, I –"

Felix cut him off. "No, I don't think he's wrong. The cult protests on old Seiros Day turned riot this year, and anyone still clinging to the church this far north blames her more than either of you… I…" he averted his eyes, almost embarrassed, "I apologize I haven't dealt with it more effectively."

"It's alright. You can't force these things, I know..."

"Still. I hadn't expected the sentiment to linger so long."

"You've worked harder than I ever would have asked. Real belief and loyalty is always hard to stamp out, people will make all sorts of justifications to themselves to avoid a perceived betrayal. At some point there is nothing left you can do."

"You're right," Felix sighed. She was always right. "But I haven't lost my patience yet."

They found themselves alone. Hubert and Annette hadn't been able to help falling into conversation about advances in magic, and it was a few minutes yet until the ceremony would start. They stood next to each other, both staring at the same words without reading them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You've perhaps had it harder than any of us, and –"

"Don't. Don't compare us." He scratched his head. "I should keep track, you know, of how many times I've told you I chose this."

"… I see."

"I didn't fight for the Empire. I fought for what you said we were fighting for, for humanity, for the continent. And for where I am now. I never opposed the north, not once, so please don't presume I have any guilt left."

He had said far too much. But he stayed frowning, he couldn't afford to show it.

He had never been all that close to Edelgard as a person – as a leader yes, as a symbol yes, but not to the point of entertaining friendship as Annie had. It wasn't that he disliked her, only that her story was not exactly his… there was enough overlap in their beliefs that their being on the same side had been inevitable, but there hadn't been space for illusions of camaraderie. She had her crowns and goddesses and continents, and he had dead friends and a broken land.

She had those too, of course, but he couldn't follow the other, higher parts of her gaze. She trusted him, he supposed, and he had come to trust her too; they worked together well and had accomplished plenty. He was just terrible at being in person with her.

"Do you have regrets?" the emperor asked.

No. He didn't. Regardless of anything else, there could be no regrets after Tailtean. After what Dimitri had done to those last, most loyal troops, after what he had done to Dedue of all people. He had no regrets about the boar. The man had fallen hard during the war, and even though he never quite hit the old lows Felix had expected him to, it was bad enough: Dimitri had chosen to trust the church, which would end up doing more damage to the old Kingdom than the Imperial army, had decided to build his life around the idea that a thirteen-year-old girl has been responsible for a genocide, and had never truly wanted to change the darkness in him.

This is why he was so bad at dealing with her. She got him caught in the past, in other futures that never could have happened. Where else could the cards have fallen? Ingrid had been right; everyone chooses their own path. And you live with it. You live with it.

"Of course," he said.

"I see. That's good."

They didn't meet eyes again. Their attendants called them to take their places and give their speeches. The day wrapped up, they did their paperwork and the motions of their vows. They talked about trade routes and tax rates and five year plans. And snow would fall on Fhirdiad that night, but only one of them would feel it.


	4. Precedence

Imperial Calendar 1187

Treason proceedings were all massive productions in the years immediately after the war, and this shortly after it there were many. The purges that accompanied the emperor's assumption had been quiet and tense affairs, done discreetly and swiftly, but for the capstone of the campaign against the last group she had to conquer, spectacle was called for. Executions like this, however, were still rare.

The trial had been a more private affair, as some things were still too sensitive for the public, but the reporters let in were made very well aware of the current censorship guidelines. They and then the general populace were ravenous for news of the former hero's disgrace, and now that weeks had passed they were able to listen to the judge reading off the full list of crimes Arundel had been convicted of. He had been speaking for three minutes already and was perhaps halfway through: regicide, fratricide, genocide, urbicide, several varieties of sedition Linhardt had not been aware existed despite his training in law – they may as well have beaten him to death with the statute books, it would have saved time.

The streets of Enbarr were a swarm of gold and red.

The world had still not calmed down in two years; the shock of all that had changed was too great. The reforms laid as heavy on the minds of the citizenry as the war itself had, not to mention the continued shockwaves of the church's collapse and its subsequent thorough defamation that the throne had spent billions on. It _felt_ like a new world – most of all in the capital. It had become sometimes hard to trust memories that happened before the emperor's coronation, so irreconcilable were the two atmospheres, which left everyone but the most complacent and indefatigably cheerful reeling.

"Ha ha ha!" Caspar laughed from the side of the throne. "You saw him, Linhardt?"

"Of course," he sighed. "Would be hard not to..."

"Couple months in jail 'n the guy's already gone gray? What's up with that!"

"Stress can do that, you know." Stress could not in fact do that.

"Please, you two," Ferdinand said, glancing back worriedly. The whole brass was here. "The reading is coming to an end."

Sure enough the judge was wrapping up. He was actually a middlingly distant relative of Linhardt's, also a Hevring, but much older – despite the nobility reforms, the houses that had trained in law were still pretty good at law. Despite everything else, things could only change so fast.

Edelgard watched with a straight face, in her full regalia. Down in front of the dais a weathered old man trudged up steps, met her gaze for just a moment, and with just as little emotion turned away at the guard's prodding. He looked remarkably like her father had near his death, now that the hair matched and his eyes had sunken to the same depth.

Linhardt restrained himself. He should never have allowed Hubert near him. They should have just killed the man where they found him, he hadn't exactly put up a fight. Just let the issue stop festering, let everyone move on. He hadn't wanted this to be the kind of world they were building.

On cue, Hubert phased in from behind him and settled into the group as if he had been there the entire time.

"Ah, Linhardt. Apologies for my lateness, I was occupied." He whispered, bowing shortly. "I was told you were not attending."

His arms remained crossed. "Well here I am, aren't I?"

"Yes. Rather rare to see you outside of your halls. How goes our noble work?"

"You've been sent the reports. A word," he snapped, and took him by the arm behind the curtains.

As soon as they were out of earshot, they cut to the point; while both did enjoy their games neither had the patience to engage in them with the other. "I'm not just going to allow this, I hope you know."

"Take it up with the emperor."

It took a lot to get Linhardt mad instead of just whiny. "I will. This is my institute, despite your part-timer position in it. You know, I was obviously never naive about the kind of person you were. You've worried me always, shaken me plenty, but you've never truly disgusted me until now."

"So harsh, Director," he said in that condescending whisper of his. "But don't talk as if you know what –"

"Harsher yet, you'll find." He cut him off and swept away before the circus out there ran to completion.

* * *

Few people had seen the emperor's scars.

Lysithea had. Byleth certainly had. Lysithea bore a similar but less expertly-done pattern which was much more haphazard but ultimately less extensive; her surgeons hadn't been able to afford the highest-quality tools and facilities that the imperial family had the luxury of and settled for riskier solutions. Byleth only had a few matching ones – the central Y at the chest over the heart, and the routine one on the thigh from the femoral artery angioplasty, but the rest of her skin was marked only by old mercenary cuts she was for some reason less willing to discuss or show.

Hubert, of course, knew where each and every one was. Dorothea knew they existed, but had never really pressed. Ferdinand was still too arrested by shame for his father's part in it all to even look her in the eyes when the subject was raised, so they had a quiet understanding not to mention it. Everyone in the strike force had caught glimpses in certain moments, most commonly the palm one where the long forearm incision began when she forgot to wear gloves, or the root of the spine access cut when happening to catch a glimpse of the nape of the neck. She wasn't proud of it, covered up obsessively, but you could only take so many precautions against time and intimacy.

Linhardt had seen it all, though. He was one of the extremely few people who had ever seen her completely unclothed. As she was determined to accomplish the symbolic gesture of ending the Hresvelg bloodline, and as the Ordelia would become the new imperial house when she eventually passed the torch to her successor, and as Linhardt had his own impulsive ex-baker husband by now (the thought! House Hevring nearly disowned him for marrying so low, but nothing could be done to a war hero of his stature), things worked out. He had essentially settled into the role of her personal physician.

The scars themselves were strange things. They were knotted in some places and frightfully splayed in others, red and raw sometimes and smooth and marble-pale others, and all bore the faint but unmistakable bitter patchouli scent that accompanied dark magic. None of them ever fully healed – they were very prone to reopening, and some to this day required permanent stitches.

Lysithea had it even worse on that front. Edelgard remembered one night at the monastery, before everything, when the girl had woken her banging on the door with her head at some insane hour, unable to speak or even cry as all her energy was being spent on holding her stomach closed with both hands. That night's panic and rushed, near-botched healing job that they could trust none of the adults with had been the very moment that the last traces of self-doubt vanished from Edelgard's mind. All the indecision and worry, all the hesitation. A bloody path on the march indeed, to end the one down that long dormitory corridor.

Linhardt had been there to follow both. It was dark work.

"Well you're looking alright this month," Linhardt sighed, unceremoniously throwing her gown and blanket over her and turning away. He'd learned to be businesslike about it all, just another checkup, as she bore it more easily that way.

She collected herself, sitting up again and redressing. The spine access was the largest and most problematic of them all and required vigilant attention, so there being no current issues was a great relief. "Thank you. That's good."

"You know what to do next. Continue the mana treatments and circulation drills, one tablet twice a day, back here same day of next moon. Right?"

"Yes. I have all the time blocked out, don't worry."

"Mm."

She had dressed but he had still not turned back. He was still at his desk, making notes about something or other and being suspiciously quiet.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, not with you," he said, waving her off. "Don't worry about this."

She stood and walked over, stopping with one hand on his chair back. "It sounds as though something's wrong. Even if not myself, tell me."

He grit his teeth, chair creaking as he sat back in it. He hated this room so much – the clash of necessary sterility and half-successful attempts to make the place more homey and comforting had never been convincing to him, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything better. He kept his eyes on his ledger. "Are you aware what Hubert's doing?"

"No, I can't imagine I am," she said. "I'll never know the full extent of what he's doing – I understand that."

He stood up and turned to her, face rather close to hers. "Arundel. He's taken Lord Arundel somewhere, and –"

She was unfazed, "Arundel is dead."

He looked back at her. She was so impossible to argue with, nowadays. He rather missed being able to bring himself to chew her out but, damn it, you couldn't chew out people who had slain dragons. "No. No, you don't... oh don't be coy with me, please, you saw him the same as me. Are you just okay with this?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know, Linhardt."

She began to walk to the door, already pulling her crown on and beginning to put her hair back up. He followed, "Listen – listen, Edelgard! I don't understand this at all. If you saw Hubert's plans, I... I can't even look at him right now. If this isn't too far, what is?"

She finished her left bun, and began the other. "Is this not under your purview?"

"I mean, yes the institute is technically handling it," he said. "But Hubert and his men have their own entire department, and I can hardly set foot in there. You _know_ this, come on."

"Then tell him to stop." She adjusted her collar. "You are the director of our entire crestological effort, and I will not allow that title to become a formality. Make your decision clear to him, and I will personally ensure he listens. I promise you that."

"Then that's it," he said, throwing his hands up. "Tell him now, and we can begin to fix this."

She paused. Let her eyes linger on the bookshelves and various tables of medical equipment and records.

"How is Adelaide doing?"

"Who?"

"She's also under your purview. One of the church children, from Galatea. Didn't Governor Fraldarius tell you of them? I had the chance to meet her personally, it's a memorable name. I believe she's fifteen next moon."

"Ah. Yes, of course." The church had of course been involved in the whole practice themselves, usually experimenting with children that Arundel's organization had already begun on and discarded. "I do recall now. But – but no, I have not personally checked in far enough to know. I can get you those records, the..." he trailed off at the look she was giving him.

"Then go back. Look at them. Visit them, Linhardt, take a weekend and see how they still live, even with the best care you've been able to provide. What has been done to their bodies, their minds."

She couldn't truly mean to use this as justification, right? "Edelgard, I swear to you I'm familiar."

"But are you familiar with how many hundreds there still are, suffering but too worried to come forward? How many thousands? How many other thousands we'll never know about because they were commoners, or foreigners, or never got past the ninety percent fatality rate?" She was speeding up; Linhardt didn't dare to interrupt. "With no one to reach a hand out to them, as you did to me? I can't – can't think about this! This was the first thing I _ever_ fought for, but if I allow myself to think about it, to _feel_ the numbers instead of only read them –!" She stepped forward, emphatically. "Some days, I'd do worse than he's doing now!"

The windowless room rang with a short echo. She had not realized she'd raised her voice so much. She reached out, "Oh – oh Linhardt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's alright. It's alright," he said, instinctively taking her ungloved hand in both of his, trying to settle her down. "No, I... I've perhaps distanced myself too much as well. I'm sorry too."

"I understand." She took a breath, drawing back and collecting herself. "But I can't decide. I trust you, Linhardt. Your judgement, your heart. Consider everything for a week, and then may I ask you to advise me?"

"Of course. Your Majesty."

She nodded. "Thank you. Thank you."


End file.
